Villainous Instructor at the Academy
Chapter 119: Shape of steel

Chapter 119: Shape of steel

The training yard felt colder today.

Not weather-wise—the sky above the Academy was the usual pale blue, clouds crawling lazy overhead—but something in the air had changed. Tense. Thick. Like the world had taken a breath and forgotten to let it out.

I stepped into the dirt arena, hands tucked behind my back, coat billowing with the wind. No illusions today. No tricks. Just the basics.

And sometimes, that was the worst kind of hell.

"Line up," I barked.

They scrambled like half-woken recruits. Julien, Garrick, Felix, Wallace, and Leo took formation, weapons in hand or slung lazily across shoulders. Mira and Cassandra were absent—’assigned to an alchemy excursion,’ according to a note stuffed under my door.

Which was fine. Gave me the perfect excuse to isolate variables.

"Today’s focus," I said, pacing before them like a bored wolf, "is individual combat review. I want to see what you’ve learned—not what you can copy. No groups. No clever team-ups. Just you, your weapon, and a target that doesn’t flinch."

"Sounds like a great day to die," muttered Felix, shifting awkwardly.

I ignored him.

Not because he was wrong.

But because he was right.

Julien stepped forward first, spinning his rapier with that trademark grin. "Let me guess—you’re going to pick us off one by one and mock us until we cry?"

"Cry?" I tilted my head. "No. That’s reserved for second years. You’ll just scream."

Wallace snorted. Garrick cracked his knuckles.

Julien lunged.

He was fast—too fast for how lazy he acted. The moment his foot touched the rune-carved ring, he blurred forward, tip of his blade aimed squarely for my ribs.

I caught it with two fingers.

His eyes widened.

Then I twisted—redirected the momentum, spun him around, and slammed the flat of my boot into his side.

Julien landed in a heap, coughing dust.

"Too linear," I said. "Predictable. You aim for the easy kill. Which works, until your enemy has fought a hundred duelists just like you."

Julien groaned. "You... rehearsed that line?"

"I did. In my sleep. You lot haunt my dreams."

Next came Garrick.

He didn’t speak. Just stepped into the ring with a tower shield and axe, grim as a funeral bell.

The second the spar began, he charged—not with speed, but weight. Each step deliberate. Calculated.

He was trying to outlast me.

Smart.

So I cheated.

Shadow Step surged through my boots, and I vanished—reappearing just behind his left shoulder.

My voice, low and amused, whispered past his ear: "You ever fight a ghost?"

He swung wide. I ducked under it, jabbed his knee, and knocked the shield from his grip.

He hit the ground like a felled tree.

"Too reliant on gear," I said. "What happens when it breaks?"

"I improvise," he grunted, dragging himself up.

"Then show me next time. Or the grave will improvise for you."

Leo was third. He looked tired before we even started.

"Professor," he sighed, "do I have to—"

I threw a stone at his face.

He yelped and barely dodged.

"There," I said. "You’ve started."

Leo’s fighting style was... chaos incarnate. He flailed. He panicked. He screamed. But—strangely—it worked. Because no one, not even me, could predict what the hell he’d do next.

He swung his staff backward at one point—completely missing me—and accidentally tripped Felix, who’d stepped too close while watching.

"I’m helping!" Leo shouted.

"No, you’re a hazard to society," I muttered, dodging again.

Eventually, I had to stop him before he hurt himself.

"You’re not bad," I admitted. "But if your strategy is ’be so unpredictable you confuse the enemy,’ make sure you’re not confused too."

He gave me a thumbs-up while lying flat on his back.

Felix approached hesitantly, eyes on his shoes.

"No tricks today?" he asked.

"No illusions. Just pain."

He sighed. "Great."

But to his credit, Felix fought with more focus than usual. Nervous, yes. But his footing was better. His guard tighter. He wasn’t just reacting—he was watching. Learning mid-swing. Adjusting.

It was subtle. But it meant he was starting to think like a combatant.

And that scared me.

Because Felix, under the right pressure, might just snap in the wrong direction.

Still. I gave him a nod when we ended. A real one.

"You lasted longer than Julien."

"I did?"

"You did."

Julien: "I’m right here, you know!"

Wallace was last.

He stepped into the circle with a glint in his eye and three strange devices strapped to his arms.

"I improved the mana launchers," he said proudly.

I stared at him. "You mean the ones that backfired and singed your eyebrows last week?"

"These are Mark II. Now with less death."

"Fine," I said, stepping back. "Impress me."

He raised one arm. A low whine built up, and then—fwip—a burst of compressed wind launched a bolt of force across the yard.

It hit the dummy behind me.

"Wrong target," I said.

"Oh right—you’re the dummy today."

"Try again."

The second shot came faster.

I ducked it. Closed the gap.

He tried to dodge, rolled clumsily, and activated the third launcher—only to miscalculate the angle and launch himself three feet into the air.

"Mark II, huh?" I muttered, watching him crash.

Wallace groaned. "Needs... more duct runes..."

By the end of it all, I stood before the five of them, arms crossed, breathing steady.

They were exhausted.

But they were better than they’d been two weeks ago.

Hell, some of them were better than me—back when I was just Allen Cross behind a desk, wishing I had a life worth losing.

Now?

I was surrounded by kids who made me believe I might survive this job.

And maybe, just maybe... they would too.

I turned to leave, calling over my shoulder. "Same time tomorrow. Unless the Phantom Duelist eats you in your sleep."

"What?!" shouted Leo.

Julien: "He’s joking. He’s—he’s joking, right?"

I didn’t answer.

Because I wasn’t.

I didn’t let them leave.

Not yet.

They thought that was it—duel, tumble, maybe a bandage or two, then dismissed with a half-assed "good work."

No.

They were wrong.

"Sit," I ordered, pointing to the training stumps scattered by the sparring ring. "Time for the highlight of your day: public humiliation and tactical dissection."

Garrick looked like he wanted to lie down and die. Wallace was still coughing out dirt. Leo visibly flinched.

Felix was the only one already seated.

Of course he was.

He knew.

I started with him.

"Felix."

"Professor," he mumbled.

"Where do I begin? You tripped on your own staff. You stabbed the dirt more times than the enemy. You even tried to parry with your face."

"I was improvising—"

"No. Improvisation implies intent. You flailed. Like a bird learning how to fly and fight and poop itself at the same time."

He looked like he wanted to vanish.

So I doubled down.

"You are, Felix, a mathematical anomaly. Every time I think you’ve hit rock bottom, you dig deeper. Honestly, I’m not even sure you’re cursed. I think the laws of nature personally hate you."

Wallace burst into laughter. That was a mistake.

"Ah, Wallace. My dear inventor of chaos. Let’s talk about your ’improved’ mana launchers."

"They were better!"

"They were a war crime in motion. One of them nearly turned you into a fireworks display. The other flung you into orbit. If I wanted to accidentally kill my students, I’d let Cassandra teach today."

Wallace grumbled. "They just need a calibration rune..."

"They need divine intervention and a fire-resistant will."

He shrank into his seat.

"Leo," I turned, slowly.

"Please don’t," he whispered.

"Oh, I must."

He sighed, accepting fate like a man walking into a guillotine.

"You are the embodiment of confusion," I said. "I watched you try to counter a strike by swinging backwards, yelling ’Panic maneuver!’ like it was a spell incantation."

"It worked—!"

"It worked because the enemy was too baffled to react. You’re not unpredictable, Leo. You’re a walking accident. I should strap a warning label on your forehead."

Julien tried to smirk. Mistake.

"And you," I pointed, "My proud, arrogant rapier prince. Flashy. Stylish. Graceful. Absolutely useless when I step one inch outside your textbook range."

Julien raised a hand, as if that somehow defended his honor.

I raised my voice instead.

"You fight like you’re performing in front of a crowd that only exists in your own head. Duelists like you die to real swordsmen because you’re too busy posing."

He closed his mouth.

"Your footwork’s decent," I added after a pause. "But next time, try aiming for me instead of the air three inches in front."

Lastly, I turned to Garrick.

He sat still. Stone-faced.

I squatted in front of him, chin resting on my palm. "You’re strong, Garrick. But strength means nothing when your defense is just stand still and pray. You didn’t adapt. You didn’t adjust. You expected your armor and shield to carry you."

"I did what I was taught."

"Good," I said. "Because it means you know how to follow. Now let’s see if you can learn."

He nodded, slow and serious.

I stood up, hands on my hips, surveying the wreckage that was Class C.

They looked like a group of abused puppies.

"I mock you," I said, "because it’s the only language your thick skulls understand."

Felix: "You could try... compliments?"

"You want praise, Felix? Fine." I pointed at him. "You only tripped twice today. That’s a new record. The ground is losing to you. Barely."

He gave a tiny cheer, which made it worse.

I rubbed my eyes.

"Listen. You’re not soldiers. Not yet. But you’re not jokes either. You’re improving. Slowly. Painfully. Like someone learning to swim in a pool full of knives."

They stared at me. Waiting for the insult. Or maybe a punchline.

Instead, I gave them something far worse.

A tiny bit of hope.

"You’ll survive," I said. "If you keep screwing up with this level of enthusiasm, the world won’t know what hit it."

Then I clapped my hands once.

"Class dismissed. Crawl to the infirmary if you must. You’ve earned it."

As they limped away—groaning, bickering, dragging each other—I felt the edges of a smirk twitching on my lips.

Felix fell again. Julien caught him, muttering something sarcastic.

Leo tripped on a dummy.

Wallace was muttering formulas about trajectory stabilizers.

Garrick didn’t say a word. But he looked thoughtful.

And me?

I watched them go, then turned my eyes to the fading light of the sky.

No ghosts. No duels. No vanishing names today.

Just students.

My students.

God help them.

Because I sure as hell couldn’t.

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